the river, must of necessity be destabilized, as it is only "a
　　　　  thought-construction": there can be "no rock at rest relative to the
　　　　  water,"(31) since there is no causal connection to provide stability
　　　　  from one moment of being-time to another. Stasis and stability (and
　　　　  movement, for that matter) are results merely of our vision of what
　　　　  occurs, not what necessarily is.
　　　　  Apparently, then, even in the static, stable staging of Ohio
　　　　  Impromptu, none of the distinctions which on first viewing seem so
　　　　  clean and easy are, on a closer look, valid. Light and dark
　　　　  intermingle, forming a simple whole which contains both; motion and
　　　　  stillness interpenetrate. Order, distinction, and stability give way
　　　　  to the richer, chaotic patternings of visceral reality. From our
　　　　  causal point of view these interfering(32) images present a complex,
　　　　  daunting problem. If, on the other hand, we are willing to shift our
　　　　  vision to the radical relativity of Zen, we can apprehend in a
　　　　  pre-reflective manner that which is before us: a moment of
　　　　  experience which simply is. "The one is a predicament, the other
　　　　  not."(33)
　　　　  In addition, there are many more layers at work within the play,
　　　　  further eroding any stable, centered meaning. The duality of past
　　　　  and future are destabilized, as what occurs in the narrative being
　　　　  read -- which is ostensibly the narrative of the two before us --
　　　　  crosses over from relating events past to relating the impossible:
　　　　  what will take place next in stage reality. Our common notions about
　　　　  how past and future are divided and interrelate is fragmented by the
　　　　  immediacy of the stage present. Intimately related to this is the
　　　　  relationship between genres: in Ohio Impromptu, drama is fiction and
　　　　  fiction drama, the two combining in a form which defies
　　　　  pigeonholing, yet is compelling in its uniqueness.
　　　　  Furthermore, in addition to the iterative nature of L's and R's
　　　　  (re)reading, there are other ways in which the apparent linearity of
　　　　  the play is destabilized, most notably, the tidal ebb and flow of
　　　　  language, movement, lighting -- and of course, reading as well. Even
　　　　  language itself, as a spoken, visceral element of drama, is
　　　　  destabilized, approaching a level of effacement and reduction which
　　　　  might carry it out to the still, silent point of "Nothing is left to
　　　　  tell." "One of the important ways in which this is attempted is by a
　　　　  return to the repetitive and auto-citational devices of the
　　　　  fiction."(34) In other words, in deconstructive fashion, the